out of the woods and into the picture (with me)
by katiekayx
Summary: "we're both 'team leaders' at a summer camp for little people and you may be hot but goddammit my collection of twelve-year-olds are going to beat yours into the dust" AU


_(**A/N**: I stole the name of this camp from Jimmy Fallon, although the internet tells me that a lake with the same name is a real place in New Hampshire. You learn something new every day. Italics are flashbacks. I own nothing from The 100, or the lyrics I took for the title, which are from "Out of the Woods" by Nickel Creek_.)

.

_**Monday**_

"Don't you think you're taking this a little too seriously?"

"Raven, there is no such thing as _too seriously_ when it comes to Camp Winnipesaukee's end-of-the-year Field Day."

"Clarke, _honestly_. Will you just admit this is because you have the hots for Bellamy?"

Clarke Griffin whirled around, her blonde hair flying around her face, pointing a finger at her best friend. "Don't even mention him! He's so _smug_ and he's going to get that stupid grin wiped off his stupid face if it's the last thing I do."

Clarke and Raven have been camp counselors at Camp Winnipesaukee for the last eight years, since they both turned eighteen. Clarke, being perpetually on the run from real life, and Raven, her best friend from their hometown, got along like a house on fire, and leapt at the chance to get away every summer.

Raven was great with kids, and Clarke was too, although her approach was a little more unorthodox. Either way, they were highly sought after by parents, and when a new counselor came along two months ago, Clarke took it as a personal insult.

_Clarke practically flew into the camp office, startling Wells Jaha, the camp coordinator. "Wells!"_

"_Clarke, don't do that! You scared me."_

"_I'm sorry, but this is important."_

"_Can it wait? We have to get to the mess hall for lunch."_

"_It can't wait. When were you going to tell me that you hired a new counselor?"_

_Wells didn't quite roll his eyes, but Clarke heard him sigh. "Clarke, you didn't think that you, Raven, and Monty would be the only counselors here forever, did you?"_

"_No, but—"_

"_Bellamy is nice, Clarke, and he comes highly recommended. We registered more campers this year than the last three years combined, and we were running ourselves ragged trying to get everyone sorted. It'll be a lot easier with some help, trust me."_

"_I trust you, Wells, but he's so… he's so…"_

"_Ruggedly handsome?" A voice came from the doorway, and Clarke whirled around to see Bellamy Blake himself propped up against the doorjamb like he belonged there, smirking at her. "That's nice of you to say, Griffin."_

"_I see you two have met," Wells said, looking warily between the two of them._

"_Yes, Clarke and I had the pleasure of being introduced earlier, and by pleasure I mean that she nearly ran me over with her car."_

"_You came out of nowhere! Who rides a bike at five in the morning anyway?!" _

"_A person who values their personal fitness, princess."_

"_Don't. Call me that." Clarke said through gritted teeth, punctuating her words with a well-aimed poke to his chest. "You are infuriating."_

"_You wound me." Bellamy said, stumbling backwards in faux hurt, clutching at his heart. "It's a kid's camp, Griffin. You shouldn't take life so seriously."_

"_This camp has been renowned state-wide for decades! You are not going to come in here with your… your cavalier attitude and ruin thirty years of tradition!"_

"_Clarke," Wells interrupted, "We really need to get to the Mess. We've got the first day introductions to do."_

"_Do you need any help carrying anything?" Bellamy asked, moving towards Wells. _

_Clarke rolled her eyes. "Sucking up is going to get you nowhere."_

_Bellamy ignored her, and instead grabbed a box out of Wells' hands before he could lift it off the floor. "I've got it. Clarke, I'll see you at lunch. Try not to have a heart attack before then."_

_He sauntered out the door, leaving Wells trying to hide his smile as Clarke fumed in his wake._

"Look, just because you think he's hot and the two of you can't get your competitiveness out of the way long enough to do something about all the tension—"

Clarke cut Raven off before she could continue, "_Please_. He should be so lucky."

"Whatever. We need to get to the lake. We've got swimming lessons."

.

.

.

The lake was a quiet place on the campground, a place that Clarke liked to go at the end of a long day to get some solace, but in the middle of the day, it was a different story. Lots of shouts and laughter filled the air as Clarke made her way closer to the lake, her sunglasses on and whistle around her neck.

Swimming lessons were probably her least favorite set of activities, but she was good at her job and knew how to get the kids to get over their fear of the water long enough to teach them how to float, and eventually, paddle around the roped off section of the lake closer to the shore.

When Clarke got to the beach, she grimaced when she saw that Bellamy's group was already in the water, flailing around and splashing. "Griffin!" His voice rang out, and she scowled. "The water is lovely, you should come in!"

"I don't think so. My group is supposed to have their lesson."

"We'll be out in a minute. We're just having a bit of fun, aren't we, kids?" He asked, and a round of cheers rang out.

Clarke tried valiantly, she really did, but she couldn't help but let her eyes drift down to Bellamy's bare chest, where the sunlight was hitting him. Over the course of the summer, all of them had gotten incredibly tan, but it was much more noticeable on him. "Idiot," she muttered.

"Did you say something?"

"Stupid smug idiot," she muttered again, quieter, and rolled her eyes at him before turning to make sure all of her group were ready to go in the water.

"All right, guys, listen up." She said, and the ever-dutiful twelve year-olds that they were, they all huddled closer. "Field Day is Friday. All your parents are going to be here, and they want to see you guys kick everyone else's butts, right?"

"_Right!" _They shouted, and she grinned.

"Right. So that means we have to practice hard and get ready for the skills competition, okay?"

The kids murmured their agreement, and Clarke smiled at them, watching out of the corner of her eye as Bellamy's group got out of the water. She frowned and turned to face them fully when she didn't see Bellamy anywhere.

"Guys," she called, "Where is Blake? You're not supposed to be near the water without—" Her words were cut off with a shriek as a pair of wet, strong arms wrap around her waist and lifted her off her feet, the kids surrounding her whooping with laughter.

"I think Clarke needs to cool down, don't you think?" He asked her group and his, the bunch of them gathered around them in excitement. They all shouted in excitement and Clarke felt dread ball up in her stomach.

"Don't you _dare_," she hissed, so he could hear her, and she felt his breath hot on her ear as he chuckled.

"Now, now, where's your summer spirit?" He asked, taking a few steps closer to the beach.

"I swear, Bellamy, if you do this, I will never speak to you again."

"Clarke," he said, his voice taking a serious tone, "Can you swim?"

"What kind of question is that, you dummy? Of course I can—"

"Good." He said before he threw her over his shoulder and in three strides, dumped her into the lake, clothes and all.

.

.

.

_**Tuesday**_

"I'm going to kill him."

"It's just a cold. You'll be fine tomorrow."

"I don't have time to wait until tomorrow! The kids have all kinds of stuff to learn—" Clarke sneezed, cutting off her rant. "Ugh."

Raven passed her a tissue, a sympathetic look on her face. "I'll take care of it. We're just doing arts and crafts today and drama club anyway. You hate drama club."

"Not as much as I hate Bellamy Blake," Clarke said grumpily, practically pouting.

"Ouch," a voice from the doorway to Clarke's cabin said, and Clarke looked up to see the man himself, looking sheepish. "Raven," he said, nodding at the brunette.

"What do you want?"

"I have no ulterior motives, I swear," he said, holding his hands up in a placating manner. "Just soup."

Clarke looked down to his hands, and saw a Tupperware container with what looked to be chicken noodle soup filling it, and she tried to ignore the little flip that her heart did when she realized that he _brought her soup_.

"I have to go. Clarke, eat something and get some rest." Raven said, pointing a stern finger in Clarke's direction, before heading out the door, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone.

"How are you feeling, Griffin?" Bellamy asked, walking to the chair in the corner of the room and pulling to closer to Clarke's bed.

"How am I _feeling_? I'm feeling, Bellamy, like someone threw me into a lake with all of my clothes on, and then let me walk back to my cabin when it was dark out. Also, I seem to remember that I'm not speaking to you, so if you don't mind…"

Bellamy's jaw clenched, but Clarke noticed that he actually _did_ seem sorry, to his credit. He handed her the soup container, which she took begrudgingly. "I _am_ sorry, Clarke." His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it, and she actually started to feel a little guilty for snapping at him. "I didn't think you'd get sick. I just thought…"

"You just thought you'd like to give me pneumonia?"

"Look, eat the soup or not, but I said I was sorry. I don't know what else you want from me, Clarke." He said, his dark eyes practically piercing into her. She had the distinct feeling that he was talking about more than the cold she was suffering from, but she didn't delve too deep into those feelings.

Clarke knew how she came off. She had a hard shell, and didn't open up to people, especially not to people that she didn't know well. She kept herself and her feelings locked away tight inside of her, and very rarely let them out. She didn't like to make herself vulnerable, and that was part of the reason why Bellamy being around unnerved her so much. She felt like he could see through her with a single look, and she didn't like it.

"I'm sorry." She blurted before she could change her mind. "I know you didn't mean it."

He looked just as surprised to hear it as she was to say it, and it struck her once again just how _stupidly attractive_ he was. She gritted her teeth, just like she did every single time she found herself admiring the sharp angle of his jaw, or the way his eyes seemed to change color every time she saw him. She wondered what would have happened if they had met on better terms, in another time or another place, but shook the thought off as soon as it came.

"I have to go," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "Eat the soup. My mother's recipe," he said, and he winked at her, _actually winked_, before standing. He turned back to look at her right before he left the room, and his face was back to that serious, sheepish look from before. "I really am sorry, Clarke."

He left the room, but Clarke felt the weight of his stare for hours afterwards.

(The soup was really, _really_ good.)

.

.

.

_**Wednesday**_

Bellamy Blake was no stranger to women. When he was younger, he was reckless and adventurous, and had his fair share of heated affairs and summer flings. Clarke Griffin, however, was a completely different story. He had absolutely no idea how to read her, and it was the most frustrating thing in the world.

When he first met her, it was a whirlwind of angry blue eyes, heated words and despite all that, he knew that she was without a doubt the most gorgeous women he had ever set his eyes on. It was incredibly exasperating to be equally attracted and infuriated by a person, but here he was, thinking about how the day before, he had hand delivered the woman _soup_. He never cooked for a woman. Ever.

It was his fault that she was sick, though, and he felt bad about it, he really did. It was too easy to wind Clarke up, and the competitive part of him (as well as the part of him that just really enjoyed flirting) couldn't back down when it came to her.

From day one they were arguing like a married couple. The thought of it brought an amused smile to his face, despite his best efforts. He knew that there was much more to Clarke Griffin than he was privy too, and tried to keep that in mind every time she yelled at him or belittled him in front of the kids. She was territorial about this camp, for some reason, and he got the feeling that there were so many more sides to her than she let _anyone_ see. It made him feel a little bit better to know that she wasn't completely repulsed by him – and he knew she wasn't; he saw the way she looked at him sometimes when she thought he wasn't looking.

Field Day seemed to be incredibly important to her. He had it on good authority (Raven) that Clarke's team won Field Day the last four years in a row, and while he loved to rile her up, he wasn't sure he wanted to see what would happen if his team won this year. His kids were really into it, though, and he wasn't going to stop them if their sole goal for the summer was to beat Clarke's team. No, no. His own competitiveness was similar to that of a twelve-year-old and he wasn't going to stand in their way if they wanted to go all out to win.

"Did you grovel appropriately to Clarke yesterday?" Raven asked, appearing at his side as he walked to his cabin.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "As good as I was able to, I suppose."

"She doesn't mean it, you know. She totally likes you."

"Yes, she made that perfectly clear with all the glaring and the yelling."

Raven waved a hand dismissively, "She's always like that. It doesn't mean anything. What _does_ mean something is the soup you made her."

"I didn't make it." He said immediately, feeling himself flush.

"Don't lie to me, Blake. I won't stand for it. Look, Clarke is my best friend. I think you guys are more similar than you think, and that freaks her out. That's why she's such a brat to you."

Bellamy's jaw clamped shut, and he stayed silent, not really sure how to respond. He admitted to himself a long time ago that he was drawn to Clarke, probably more than he should be, but he couldn't find it in himself to think that she felt the same way. There was just no way that could be true.

"Anyway, I have to go get things ready for Field Day tomorrow. Try not to murder each other while I'm gone!" She sang, skipping away.

Bellamy shook his head as he watched her go, but his gaze was soon drawn to the mess hall, where Clarke walking out. She looked a lot better than she had the day before – the color had returned to her cheeks and her eyes looked brighter (not that he could notice that from this far away). Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the result of letting it air dry instead of using a hair dryer like most women did. She didn't wear a lot of makeup, he noticed, opting for the natural look while they were at camp, and he was sure that he hadn't seen her ever look so lovely as she did now, in the morning sun.

He swallowed thickly and looked away before she could catch him staring, and tried to shake all those previous thoughts out of his head. She would absolutely murder him if she knew what he was thinking, and he imagined it would be a long, painful death.

"Griffin," he said instead, greeting her as she walked by.

"Blake."

"Are you prepping your team to lose tomorrow?" He teased, watching with amusement as she stopped dead in her tracks, still facing the other direction.

"I should be asking you that," she said, and if he wasn't mistaken, he thought she might even be _flirting_ with him. What a world. "My team doesn't lose."

"There's a first time for everything," he said, drifting closer, hoping he wasn't imagining the way her eyes glanced down at his mouth for a split second. His heart rate picked up as she walked closer as well, until they were only a short distance apart.

"Not this," she said, shaking her head, "Field Day is pretty cutthroat, are you sure you're cut out for it?"

He knew he wasn't imagining it this time. Clarke Griffin was _flirting_ with him, and he wasn't about to stop her. They were even closer now, and Bellamy felt his breath hitch as Clarke looked up at him through her eyelashes (their height difference was another thing to add to the list of reasons he found Clarke so alluring). "I'm pretty cut out for anything, Clarke," he said, and _Jesus_, was that his voice? When did it get so low?

"We'll see about that," she told him, and before he could blink, she was gone, leaving him feeling cold without her standing in front of him.

_Well. _He thought, _that was interesting_.

.

.

.

_**Thursday**_

Bellamy woke up feeling exhausted. His mind had spent the previous night going over and over his and Clarke's interaction from the day before, and what it all meant. He didn't know how he was supposed to look her in the face and forget the way she looked at him or the way her voice sounded when they were only inches apart.

He knew he needed a few cups of coffee before he could even begin to process what had happened the day before, and started to drag himself out of bed. He got dressed quickly, the cold in the cabin in the early morning hitting his feet and arms, and he shivered despite himself.

"Blake!" Clarke's voice startled him out of his thoughts, loud in the early morning. "You were supposed to be out here ten minutes ago; now I'm stuck watching your group as well as my own!"

He sighed. Only he could manage to piss Clarke Griffin off before the day even started. "Give me two minutes," he called back, not even bothering to try and come up with a snappy comeback.

"I'll give you one minute before I eat your oatmeal," she said, and he grinned.

"Good luck, you know Roma always saves an extra bowl for me."

"That's because Roma has a crush on you." Clarke deadpanned, and he knew if he could see her, she would be glaring at him.

"Who doesn't, though."

"Ugh," Clarke groaned, and he heard her footsteps as she practically stomped away from his cabin. He finished dressing quickly, and headed over to the Mess, where he could see Clarke standing in between two long tables, one with her group and the other where his group sat.

"Morning, rugrats," he said and received a chorus of greetings back at him. He winked at Clarke as he passed her to retrieve his bowl of oatmeal from Roma, who blushed when he looked at her, but all he could see what Clarke Griffin, hands on her hips, glowering at him in the middle of the mess hall. It was quite the intimidating sight, if he was honest, but he decided he was going to let himself be deterred. He didn't imagine what happened between them yesterday. At the very least, he could convince her that he wasn't the scum of the earth.

"Having a bad morning?" He asked as he took a seat at the end of his table, her at the end of hers, the aisle in between them.

"I was having a great morning until I had to babysit an extra group of pre-teens." Clarke said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I slept through my alarm for a whole thirty seconds, Clarke. Hardly enough time for the world to end in my absence."

"You are _impossible_."

He grinned at her around a mouthful of blueberry oatmeal, "You love it."

.

.

A few hours later, Bellamy's group was at the sight of the relay race that would be taking place during Field Day tomorrow, and he was walking them through it. "You guys have to work together to get this done, okay? Otherwise it'll never work."

"Bellamy," Monty, one of the other camp counselors, was nearly out of breath as he ran up to Bellamy, bending over and putting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Bellamy, we need your help."

"What happened?" Bellamy asked, taking in the panicked look in Monty's eyes. He hoped that nothing had happened to any of the kids, because with their parents coming tomorrow, that would not bode well for the camp's reputation.

"It's Clarke."

Bellamy felt his blood run cold. "What. Happened."

"I don't know, she… she was near the lake, on that trail that goes around it? She was jogging I think, and she fell, and… I think her ankle's broken."

"Show me." Bellamy said, and before he took off after Monty, he ushered his kids back to the mess hall, where he asked Roma to look after them for a few minutes.

Following Monty towards the trailhead, he paused, "Monty, how do you know where she is?"

Monty blanched, "That's the problem. She has her radio so she was able to get me for help, but she doesn't really know where she is."

"How doesn't she _know_?" Bellamy nearly yelled, "How is that even possible?!"

"You know how Clarke gets!" Monty yelled back, "She was on a jog, on her break, and she gets that way when she runs – she gets all caught up in the music and sometimes she jogs off the trail."

"Of all the _stupid_—"

"Can you yell at her later? First we need to find her."

Bellamy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You stay here. There's no sense in all three of us getting lost in there. I'll go in and find Clarke and bring her out. Get some first aid supplies and stay here for when we come out. If her ankle is broken she's going to need crutches."

Monty nodded. "Radio in when you've got her."

Bellamy nodded before heading in the direction of the trailhead. He left his radio back in his cabin, but decided that he could find Clarke well enough without it. He was decent at tracking, and she couldn't have gone that far if she was still in range enough to radio through to Monty.

"Clarke?" He called when he got about halfway down the trail. Between the rushing of the river that ran to his left, the river that ran into the lake, and the sounds he was making walking, he could barely hear himself think, let alone hear Clarke respond. "Dammit," he whispered to himself.

"Bellamy?" He heard her, off in the distance, and his neck snapped up.

"Clarke?!"

"Bellamy!" She called for him again, louder, and he thought the sound was coming from his right, farther into the woods that ran along the river. Monty was right – this spot was pretty far off the beaten path. "Bellamy," she said as he got closer, and he could see her now, nearly collapsed on the ground. She looked as if she had been crying, and he sprinted the last few feet towards her.

"Princess," he started, crouching down to assess the damage, "That's quite the ankle you've got there."

"It's broken," she said, unnecessarily. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and there was this hole…"

"Hey, it's okay. We need to get you out of here." Bellamy shushed her. He reached for her ankle, but she hissed in pain, and fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and he pulled back immediately, wincing right along with her. "Sorry, I'm sorry."

"How am I supposed to do Field Day now?" She said, her voice sounding small and pitiful to his ears. "I can't even show my kids how to do all the relays, let alone any of the other stuff they're going to need help with, and—"

"Griffin, don't worry about that right now. This is more important."

"No, it isn't!" She said with such intensity that they both fell into a shocked silence, staring at each other. Clarke's eyes were filled with tears, and Bellamy was sure he looked shocked, his eyes feeling wide in his face.

"Clarke—"

"This stupid summer camp is all that I've got going for me right now, Bellamy, so don't tell me that it's not important."

"I didn't mean—"

"That's just it! You never think before you say things! You just blurt out whatever you're thinking, without even taking into consideration that maybe some people come here every summer because their home life sucks! Maybe they come here because this is the only real family they've ever known, and because winning this _stupid_ trophy for field day at the end, with all those kids, is the only kind of validation they're ever going to get…" Clarke trailed off, her outburst losing speed the longer she went on.

Bellamy tried not to gape at her, but he felt his chest tightening with emotion as he looked at her. He had never seen her like this – he always assumed she was a spoiled, privileged kid who had everything she ever wanted, but now he was starting to regret ever thinking that in the first place.

"My parents used to send me here when I was a kid because they were too busy with political functions to have their only kid around and _in the way_," she said, sniffling. "When I was old enough to become a counselor I signed up the first chance I got because this place was the only place I felt like I _belonged_. I had a family here. After my Dad died, my Mom and I didn't get along, and this was the only place I could go where I felt like I could _breathe_. Field Day might be stupid to you, but it matters to those kids, and it matters to me."

Bellamy sat back on his heels, unsure of what to do. He had no idea, about any of it. Clarke's childhood, her family life… none of it. There were so many facets to Clarke Griffin that he hadn't even begun to see yet, and he realized like a punch to the gut that he _wanted to_. He wanted to know her, know _all_ of her, and he didn't want to go home at the end of the summer without making sure that she knew that. He wanted her to know that she mattered to someone.

"Clarke… I'm sorry. We need to get you out of here, and then we'll figure out what to do about tomorrow, okay? Your kids will be ready for the games tomorrow. I promise."

.

.

.

_**Friday**_

Field Day.

Clarke used to love Field Day, but after spending half a day being carried around by Bellamy Blake and then spending the other half in the hospital getting a cast put on, she was sure she was going to hate it forever.

(Never mind that Bellamy had nice arms, something she had never appreciated until he carried her out of the woods to where Monty had been waiting for them, an apologetic look on his face.)

Now, she was standing off to the side, in a chair that Raven had forced on her earlier in the day. She tried not to look so grumpy, knowing that the parents were milling around, probably whispering about her, so she plastered a fake smile on her face and greeted anyone and everyone who walked past her.

She heard the cheers starting and knew that the teams were making their way to the starting point, each team starting at a different event. There was a canoe race, a relay race, the classic potato sack race, and several other events to promote teamwork and communication. Clarke smiled to herself as she remembered doing the same things when she was a camper.

"Don't look so glum, princess." Bellamy's now-familiar voice said to her left, and she looked up, shading her eyes so she could see him. "How does your ankle feel today?"

"Hurts."

Bellamy frowned, probably noting her one-word response, but she couldn't find it in herself to pretend to be happy.

"Clarke, about what you told me yesterday—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Bellamy regarded her curiously for a minute as she refused to meet his eyes, before shaking his head. "Okay." He walked away slowly, heading towards the starting line where his team was waiting for him.

.

.

.

Clarke couldn't believe it. One minute, she had been convinced that her team was going to lose every single event, and the next they were unstoppable. She'd never seen them work so well together. Even the kids who refused to participate in anything chipped in and worked with their teammates. They won every single event.

"Clarke!" Charlotte, one of Clarke's campers, ran up to her with her certificate in hand, grinning so big Clarke thought she might break a tooth. "Clarke, we won _everything_!"

"I know! I don't know how you guys pulled it off. I wish I could have been over there cheering you on," she said, as more of her group came over to stand in a circle around her. "I'm really proud of you guys."

"We couldn't have done it without you," Charlotte said, "But we should thank Bellamy too, before we go home."

"Bellamy?" Clarke frowned, "What does Bellamy have to do with it?"

"He gave us a huge pep talk yesterday!" One of the younger boys said, practically bouncing up and down in excitement, "He told us that you would be really sad if we didn't work together and try our hardest, and we didn't want you to cry anymore."

Clarke's mind was whirring as she took in what they were saying. Bellamy talked with her group. He talked with them and encouraged them _for her_.

"Help me up," she said to Charlotte suddenly, the girl's eyes growing wide as she pulled Clarke upright.

"Are you going to go yell at him again?!"

"Something like that," Clarke murmured, scanning the crowd for the now-familiar mop of hair belonging to Bellamy Blake.

.

.

.

"Bellamy!"

Bellamy turned around, expecting to greet someone else's Mom, but instead was greeted with the sight of Clarke limping her way towards him. He frowned, and moved to her side, helping to support her weight. "Princess, where are your crutches? You're not supposed to be walking."

"That doesn't matter."

"Of course it does, your ankle—"

"Please shut up for one minute."

"If you just came over here to insult me—"

"I wanted to thank you, Bellamy."

_Well_. He certainly didn't expect that. "I—"

"Charlotte told me how you gave one of your oh-so-impressive speeches to my group yesterday. I've never seen them work together like they did today. That was because of you."

Bellamy blushed, and hoped she couldn't tell. He _had_ talked to Clarke's group after he had taken Clarke to the hospital yesterday. He hadn't been able to get the sight of her tear-stained face out of his mind, and since he knew how important this day was for her, he wanted to do something nice for once. It seemed that it worked, against the odds, and now he didn't know how to react. "You said it was important. I wanted to make sure they knew that, too."

Clarke was quiet, her eyes roaming his face as if she was looking for something. She must have found it, whatever _it_ was, because the next thing he knew, one hand was sliding into his hair, pulling his face down to hers, and she was kissing him. Out of pure instinct, his hands found their way around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Their mouths moved together slowly, but with so much feeling that he thought he must be dreaming. The kiss could have lasted two minutes or two hours, Bellamy wasn't sure. All he was sure of was that this was heaven. Kissing Clarke Griffin was more than he could have ever imagined.

"Clarke," he breathed when they broke apart, her forehead pressing into his.

"I'm sorry I'm always so awful to you," she said, and Bellamy chuckled.

"I think I know a few ways you could make it up to me."

"Don't start."

"If you would just let me finish a sentence—"

"Shut up, Blake." Clarke said, smiling at him, before pulling him back into another kiss.


End file.
